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SKETCHES AND LEGENDS 
OF THE WEST 



SKETCHES AND LEGENDS 
OF THE WEST 



BY 

GUSTAV GOTTLIEB WENZLAFF 



CAPITAL SUPPLY COMPANY 
PIERRE, S. DAKOTA 



sot / 

• v 



Copyright, 1912 

BY 

G. G. WENZLAPF 



- O 
£CLA319303 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. The Green Prairies 11 

II. The Boy on the Farm 19 

III. Where-the-Lights-Go-Out 29 

IV. Spirit Mound 37 

V. Old Scattergold 45 

VI. The Home of Waziya 55 

VII. Legend of the Good Man 67 

VIII. The Great Sentinel 77 

IX. Legend of an Old Oak 85 

X. Fort Randall 93 

XI. The City of the Skies 103 



To My 
Children 

these Sketches and Legends 

are affectionately 

dedicated 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 



Wfyt (green $ratrieg 



IN the very heart of our continent lies a 
vast stretch of level land. When the 
white man first saw it, it was treeless and 
comparatively bare. Yet on it fed ante- 
lopes and great herds of buffalos, and over 
it roamed bands of Indians, who hunted 
the game. On these prairies are now found 
many groves and homes, and great red 
barns, corn fields, herds of sleek cattle and 
horses, and a populous race of toilers. 

But the great plains of the West did not 
always blossom even as they did when the 
first savage beheld them. Where now these 
great stretches of land lie, there was a vast 
sea, which became shallower and shallower 
until it disappeared altogether. 

[11] 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 

To the north and west of this new coun- 
try — so the story goes — among the cragged 
rocks of the mountains, lived men of huge 
size and strength. They knew how to hunt 
game, which roamed through the mountains 
and woods. Their weapons were long poles 
and large rocks, which they hurled with 
accuracy and force. 

It happened one day that some of these 
men were out hunting, and they came to- 
gether at a spring. Big-Grizzly arrived 
first, and stooping over the cool water as 
it bubbled up, drank freely. Then he 
sat by it and gazed lazily down the valley. 
Then came One-Eye, tall as a pine and 
stronger than the shaggy buffalo. He 
stooped down on the other side of the 
spring, drank, and then sat down also. 

Presently Strong-Arm and Stoop hap- 
pened to come, and seeing the clear water, 

[12] 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 

Strong- Arm said, "Give us a chance at the 
spring!" 

But Big-Grizzly asked jestingly, "How 
long can you wait?" 

"Wait?" exclaimed Stoop, flushing with 
anger. "Just long enough for you to remove 
your lazy forms." 

"You flare up like a boy," said One-Eye, 
coolly. "Calm yourself; you'll get to the 
water soon enough." 

"So you refuse to move?" cried Stoop, 
and bending over, he took hold of a crag 
and tore it up. In an instant the great 
bodies beside the spring were up and a 
Titan battle was on that shook the earth. 
The giants were grappling the projecting 
crags of the mountain, and they rent huge 
masses from their mooring, and hurled them 
at each other. Strong-Arm was the first to 
be hit, and he fell with a thud and a groan. 

[13] 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 

Then Big-Grizzly was struck on the head 
with such force that the sound of the blow 
echoed among the cliffs, and with a cry that 
shook the mountains, he, too, fell. 

Stoop and One-Eye now faced each other. 
Stoop hurled a sharp-edged rock so swiftly 
that it sang on its course. But One-Eye 
dodged the vicious missile, which then 
buried itself in the ground. 

Now One-Eye once more pulled and 
shook the rocks until a huge piece was 
broken away. This he threw, and it 
shrieked through the air. The aim had been 
true, and Stoop fell, never to rise again. 

The surviving Titan now viewed the des- 
olation that had been wrought in a few 
moments. Great boulders lay strewn about 
and the ground was crimson with blood. 
And what was it all for"? 

Terror seized One-Eye. He felt that he 
[14] 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 

could not remain here longer. The sight 
of the mountains and rocks made him faint. 
But where go? 

The sun hung pale above the mountain 
peaks. Weary from the battle, and sick of 
heart, One-Eye picked up his robe and 
slowly descended. Far to the south and 
east he descried a vast brown sea without 
billows and without gleam. When finally 
he reached it, he saw it was not a sea at 
all, but a level land, brown, grassless, and 
desolate, for this had been the bottom of an 
ocean. 

Like a boy who, coming to a sunny beach, 
is drawn by the glistening sand, so One- 
Eye, the Titan, was charmed by the vast 
level, and, unfolding his great robe, he 
stretched himself out on the fur. He looked 
up into the deep sky, and its blue seemed 
to be endless. Not a bird, not an insect — 

[15] 



THE GREEN PRAIRIES 

no, not even a cloud — crossed his field of 
vision. He fell asleep, and he slept, how 
long no man can tell; it might have been 
a century or it might have been a thousand 
years. Yet when he awoke, he found him- 
self not upon a fur robe, but upon a vel- 
vety field of buffalo grass. He slowly 
raised himself, and towering high above the 
grass at his feet, he shaded his eye and 
peered out over the field. As far as he 
could see there was grass, — a sea of green. 

One-Eye stood long, and looked and 
looked. Then, turning his face toward the 
mountains, he said, "My heart is satisfied. 
I will go." 

And he went, but his robe he left as the 
soft covering of the plains. 



L16] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 



GTfje pop on tfje Jfarm 



WHILE the windmill at the well now 
and then starts with a creak and a 
clatter, the boy on the farm lies in the 
shade and watches in a half-listless manner 
its whims and movements in the summer 
air. Finally he says, "Lonesome! Not 
much doing here! Shep, let's go to the 
lake." 

No sooner said than we find Tom and 
the intelligent shepherd dog walking down 
the dusty road. Field-sparrows are flit- 
ting about everywhere, and occasionally a 
song-sparrow sings his best from some dry 
branch. The meadow-lark, too, pipes its 
choppy tune from post or pole. It is a 
simple tune, yet the boy likes it because 

[19] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

he has heard it so often in season and out 
of season. Now a gopher or a quail runs 
across their pathway. Shep starts to run 
after it. 

"Here, Shep!" commands the boy. 

Now they enter a meadow fragrant and 
soft. A jack-rabbit comes bounding along 
and after him two dogs. These evidently 
are experienced rabbit-hunters, for they 
keep a good distance between themselves. 
But the jack-rabbit is a strong runner, and 
as the three disappear over the hill, the 
dogs have not gained on the rabbit. Then 
the rabbit comes to a hole in the midst of 
some bunch-grass and into it he darts, while 
the dogs in their excitement speed on. 

When Tom and Shep come along that 
way later, whom should they see but Master 
Jack-Rabbit sitting at the foot of a fence- 
post, his eyes and ears turned intently on 

[20] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

a meadow-lark perched on the post and 
piping the usual little tune! The whole 
attitude of the rabbit shows how thoroughly 
he is absorbed in the singing. No siren of 
old could have charmed men more com- 
pletely than this meadow-lark charms the 
fleet runner of the fields. 

And over yonder on the little knoll they 
see a small mound of yellow clay. By it 
is the den of a coyote, and in it are a couple 
of baby coyotes. But you would not know 
it unless you watched very carefully. The 
mother keeps away during the day, and the 
babies remain very still in the hole. But 
when evening comes and gray shadows, 
then the mother returns quietly to her home 
and babies. 

Down at the other end of the meadow 
they come to the lake, which is a wonder- 
fully lively place, especially at dusk. A 

[21] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

bittern gravely stands in the shallow water, 
while a pair of kingfishers are busily look- 
ing for delicacies. Killdeers stalk about the 
muddy shore, and now and then give their 
cry, "Killdee, killdee!" Wild ducks and 
mud-hens are sporting about the deeper por- 
tions of the lake. Now a muskrat quietly 
swims from her island home through the 
dark water in among the reeds and there 
is lost to view. 

Tom, standing under a willow tree, casts 
a searching look over the lake. "Muskrats, 
Shep," says the boy. "This is where we'll 
set out traps next winter. Not now, Shep. 
The fur is not good now." 

Both boy and dog seat themselves in the 
shade and watch the life on the lake. 

'Tine ducks, Shep," says the boy. 

Shep responds with a sharp bark. The 
killdeers fly up with a cry, while the bittern, 

[22] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

with measured beat of wing, rises into the 
air and is gone. 

The faint sound of the farm bell is now 
wafted over the hill. 

"Shep, we must be off!" and the boy and 
the dog turn back whence they came. 

Tom does not keep all the varied impres- 
sions that he gets from the great school 
of nature, but he talks about them at 
home. 

The schoolmaster, who during the sum- 
mer months helps plow corn and make hay, 
listens with great interest to the young 
naturalist. 

The next day, as the young man rides 
up and down the long, straight rows of 
tender corn, he mutters away at something 
that the horses cannot understand. But not 
many days after, the editor of the Prairie 
Journal opens a letter and finds in it, for 

[23] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

print, some verses that were hammered out 
on the cultivator. They ran thus: 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

It's the boy on the farm and the dog at his 

side 
That know where the coyote and little ones 

hide; 
They know where the duck her wee babes 

fondly feeds, 
And the muskrats their house finely build 

in the reeds. 

It's the boy on the farm and the dog, ever 
near, 

That can tell just how stalks the long- 
legged killdeer, 

And how the kingfisher deep dives for the 
fish, 

[24] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

And what is the field-sparrow's daintiest 
dish. 



They know, too, what tune the song- 
sparrow e'er sings — 

"Oh, maidens, hang out your tea-kettles!" 
it rings; 

And how, when pursued, the fleet rabbit 
can bound 

Over field, over stones, quite as fast as a 
hound. 

While others are sweating and grubbing all 

day, 
The boy and his dog — oh, they just play. 
Yet mark! when it comes to devouring a 

meal, 
There's none that can beat them in such a 

square deal. 



[25] 



THE BOY ON THE FARM 

Oh, the boy on the farm, as well as his dog, 
They're certainly needed to keep things 

ajog; 
While the one can holler, the other can 

bark, 
And both keep things going from morning 

till dark. 



[26] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 



Mijere=tl)e=ltgf)ts;=#o=#ttt 



THE rivers and small lakes of the prai- 
rie lands of the Northwest are many. 
The Big Sioux winds in and out for many 
weary miles until it dashes over the rocks 
at Sioux Falls, and then it continues in 
its southward course until it joins the Mis- 
souri. The James, the longest unnavigable 
river in the world, sluggishly creeps on 
through two states, and likewise empties 
into the Missouri. The Missouri, rising in 
the mountains of the Far West, hastens 
east and south into the sea. 

Rivers have always taken an important 
part in the history of a country. In ancient 
times, the Tigris and Euphrates were the 
life to Mesopotamia. The Nile was the 

[29] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 

bread-giver to Egypt. The Tiber is insep- 
arable from the history of Rome. The 
Rhine is sacred in German song and legend. 
And the history of the West is not com- 
plete without the Missouri. Lewis and 
Clark made their historic expedition through 
the West up the Missouri, and the early 
fur-traders journeyed by the way of this 
stream. Later, when the country was 
being settled, a flotilla of steamboats plied 
the Big Muddy, carrying freight and 
passengers. 

To those living near, the Missouri has 
become endeared. It is so forceful and 
wild. It demands wide elbow-room for its 
meanderings. The hills bordering the river 
in places suggest miniature mountains, and 
in the distance wear wonderful hues of 
purple and blue. Those parts of the river- 
bottom that have not been torn up and 

[30] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 

rebuilt by the angry tide for some time grow 
woods of luxuriant growth. 

If the Missouri would but take us into 
his confidence, what a tale would we hear 
of his childhood up in the Rocky Moun- 
tains; of his turbulent boyhood and youth 
among the foothills; of his manhood as 
he rushed, still uncontrollable, through vast 
plains along the low-lying coteaus, past 
cities and towns ! Before he throws himself 
into the arms of the Father of Waters, how 
many acres of fertile land has he not torn 
up and scattered to the winds; how many 
deep-rooted trees of gigantic stature has he 
not toppled over and carried on his mighty 
back toward the sea; how many care- 
less bathers has he not pulled down to 
gloomy depths! And what skies and 
clouds and groves has he not mirrored in 

his eyes! 

[31] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 

But Master Missouri says nothing; 
perhaps he hasn't time for words. 

However, even though the ancient river 
remains speechless, there are those who 
possess traditions reaching into the dim 
past. 

A beautiful grove of stately elms and 
cottonwoods looms up on the south bank of 
the river opposite the dreamy chalk cliffs 
above old Yankton. Here and there the 
branches are trellised with the wild grape- 
vine, and in the shade of the trees grow 
the sumac and the dogwood. 

"That's the place where the lights go 
out," the traveler passing by on a steam- 
boat is informed. "Every light on this boat 
would go out, were we to come along here 
after dark." 

Many years ago the Spirit of the Shade 
lived in a forest to the east. So large and 

[32] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 

dense were the trees that not a ray of sun- 
light ever penetrated the leafy branches to 
the ground below. This was to the liking 
of the Spirit. Just as warm sunshine glad- 
dens our hearts, so the shady twilight of 
the forest seemed to give satisfaction to the 
Spirit of the Shade. In his dusky home he 
watched the timid hare and roe, and listened 
to the twitter of birds and the hoot of owls 
in the branches above. 

But finally he heard other sounds — voices 
of men and the ring of the axe. The great 
trees of the forest fell, one after another, 
until finally bright sunlight beat upon the 
cool, mossy ground, where the Spirit of the 
Shade had lived so long. Then he fled 
westward to other forests. But men fol- 
lowed, and everywhere they chopped and 
stripped and burned. 

Finally the Spirit of the Shade crossed 
[33] 



WHERE-THE-LIGHTS-GO-OUT 

the Father of Waters and the bare plains. 
He looked upon the trees of the Big Sioux, 
the Vermillion and the James rivers, but 
passed on until he came to a village of 
Yankton Indians, and there across from 
Smutty Bear's thickly wooded bottom lands, 
on the other side of the Missouri, he found 
a wood, the trees of which raised their heads 
high to the sky, and by it flowed the wild, 
lawless river. 

"Here," said the Spirit of the Shade, 
"I'll abide until the river topples my shady 
house into its flood, and bears the ground 
upon which it was reared into the great 
sea. But if man comes along with his 
detested lights and fires, I'll blow and 
smother them out." 

And to this day the spot is called Where- 
the-lights-go-out. 

[34] 



SPIRIT MOUND 



Spirit illounb 



NOT far from the banks of the Vermil- 
lion, near its mouth, rises a symmet- 
rical mound, which from time immemorial 
is reported to be the abode of imps. These 
imps, or little devils, are described as about 
eighteen inches in height, having large 
heads, and provided with bows and arrows, 
which they use against the unsuspecting 
passer-by. 

The malicious little spirits — so the story 
runs — were once full-sized Indians and 
lived upon the plains like others, except 
that they shirked doing their part in pro- 
viding food and furs for the tribe. When 
others were out on the chase, the shirkers 
sneaked off and lay in the shade of the 

[37] 



SPIRIT MOUND 

trees by some creek or river, and slept or 
talked in the manner of idlers. And when 
it was remonstrated, they used bad words 
and in other ways made themselves dis- 
agreeable. 

Now, in the tribe there was a medicine 
man, or magician, who knew the secrets of 
nature. 

"Go!" said the good men of the tribe 
to the magician, "go and use your power 
for the good of the tribe." 

"What shall I do?" asked he. 

"What you will," they answered, "only 
do not take the lives of the lazy." 

So the magician went out by himself to 
the top of a hill and remained there two 
days and two nights. When he came back, 
he called the people together, and they 
formed a large circle. Standing in the 
center, he said, "Beat the drums !" 

[38] 



SPIRIT MOUND 

The sound of the drums weirdly rolled 
over the prairies. 

"Bring me my bag!" he continued. 

His buckskin bag, beautifully worked 
in beads and dyed porcupine quills, was 
brought. 

Then he called into the circular space 
the men who did not live for the good of 
the tribe. Thereupon he reached into the 
bag and pulled out a little animal. 

"Look! What is it?" cried the magician. 

"A prairie dog!" they answered. 

"Open the circle!" continued the magi- 
cian. "The prairie dog is of no good to us, 
and hence it may go!" 

With that the little animal was put on 
the ground, and as it ran out it changed into 
a prairie wolf. 

Then the magician reached into the bag 
once more and pulled out a little bird. 

[39] 



SPIRIT MOUND 

"What is this?' asked he. 

"A ground owl!" they all answered. 

"The owl is no good to the tribe; there- 
fore it may fly." 

And as it flew up, it changed into a great 
eagle. 

The magician left the circle, but some of 
the shirkers said, "I am going to do my 
share hereafter," while others said, "Wait; 
we can still hit a mark, even though not 
larger than a magician." 

The magician went off alone and pre- 
pared himself to use his power over the bad 
men. Then he wandered about the creek 
and river-bottoms, and when he found any 
of the bad ones, he changed their form into 
that of imps and banned them to live ever 
after like gophers in the ground. 

When Lewis and Clark came to the Ver- 
million, the natives told them of Spirit 

[40] 



SPIRIT MOUND 

Mound and its inhabitants, but the white 
men found nothing except the mound over- 
grown with prairie grass. 



[41] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 



®lti g>cattergottr 



THE Black Hills may be counted among 
the most beautiful mountains in the 
West. They rise high and rugged into the 
air. Dark evergreens cover mountain-side 
and valley, except where the ruthless axe 
or fire has felled or consumed the an- 
cient trees. Bright mountain streams rush 
through valleys and canyons. Perpendicu- 
lar crags pierce the sky, and around their 
heads clouds lower and gleam in the eve- 
ning light. 

But the Black Hills are chiefly valued for 
the gold that they conceal. Here gold in 
abundance has been found in valleys and 
stream-beds; and gold is still found in 
abundance in the rocks of the mountains. 

[45] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

According to the story, there was once 
a time when the Black Hills existed in all 
their beauty, but without gold. 

It was in the days when the radiant rain- 
bow spanning the mountain peaks was 
prized above the luster of silver and gold, 
that a fair maiden lived with her people 
in these mountains. She helped her mother 
in grinding the corn, preparing the food, 
and tanning the skins. Although thus occu- 
pied, and not getting far from her home, 
she nevertheless knew much of these moun- 
tains, which she loved. It was to her a 
joy to watch the morning light upon the 
lofty peaks, or the storm-clouds dashing 
against the rocks and pines, and the light- 
ning crashing hither and thither, or the 
timid deer grazing in the glen. 

This maiden had a lover, and he loved 
not only the maiden, but also the things 

[46] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

that she loved of nature. He was good 
and brave. 

"Maiden," said he, "how rich I am and 
happy in these Hills. The sky, the cliffs, the 
pines, the birds, and the flowers are all 
ours." 

"Young man," said she, "all this is not 
only ours, but also belongs to whosoever 
looks. The brooks and birds sing for all 
who listen. The trees murmur for all ears." 

Now, it happened that a stranger came 
among these people, and he saw the maiden, 
and was pleased with her looks. 

"I must win her for myself," said he. Yet 
the maiden would not look at him. But the 
strange young man had gold without limit. 
This he now brought in large leather bags 
and poured it on robes spread on the 
ground. 

"This is valuable," he said. "In the dis- 
[47] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

tant world this metal will procure whatever 
the heart desires." 

The people looked and marveled at the 
gleaming gold. The pile grew bigger and 
bigger, until it was a mountain itself. 

"How rich and powerful the stranger is!" 
they exclaimed. "Maiden, listen to his 
voice!" 

"I am rich without gold," she quietly 
replied. 

"What have you*?" asked some. 

"I have yonder rainbow bending over 
these beautiful Hills." 

They laughed at the girl, because they 
had so long looked at the mountain of 
gold, and listened to the stories of its 
power, that the rainbow had lost its beauty 
for them. 

"Then I have the sky gleaming each 
morning and each evening in the purest yel- 

[48] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

low, red, and purple," she continued. "And 
I have you, my friends." 

They laughed scornfully, and said, "Fool 
of a girl ! What can you do with rainbows 
and bright skies'? Choose the young man 
with the mountain of gold, and we all shall 
be rich and happy for all time to come. 
Choose him or we'll drive you out!" 

"Give me until the new sun comes," 
answered the maiden. 

To this they consented. 

Now the maiden quietly went up the 
forest where twilight reigned even when the 
sun was highest. 

"Must I renounce my beautiful Hills and 
my people, and be untrue to my hearth" she 
cried. "My rainbow spanning these peaks 
is dearer to me than a mountain of gold 
higher than the rainbow's arch. I shall 
remain true to my heart and my love." 

[49] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

She heard a moan and a roar among 
the ancient pines; then they creaked and 
crashed. It became so dark that she could 
not see the trunks of the trees. She groped 
her way to a huge granite block with over- 
hanging side. Then lightning flashed and 
roared, and a flood of water rushed through 
the forest. 

Below, the mountain of gold was washed 
and scattered and driven and melted into 
the imperishable rocks. The people them- 
selves were terrorized, and they crept away 
in whatever sheltered places they could find. 
In their fright, above the din of the storm 
and the roar of thunder, which re-echoed 
and multiplied between the mountain walls, 
they believed that they heard something 
shout, "I'm Scattergold! I'm Scattergold, 
the friend of the faithful maiden!" 

After the storm and the agitation had 
[50] 



OLD SCATTERGOLD 

subsided, the people came out of their 
hiding-places, and said, "Let the maiden 
love the rainbow and the colored sky over 
these Hills, and we shall love with her. 
But the stranger may take his gold and go." 

When they looked for the stranger, they 
failed to find him — he was gone, as was 
the heap of gold. 

In later years, whenever a child found a 
nugget of gold in a pebbly brook, he said, 
"Old Scattergold left it here." 



[51] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 



tEfce 3|ome of OTajtpa 



IT is again a story of days long past, when 
things were not as they are today. Of 
the dark side, nothing is said. That the 
mountain torrent raged and growled, is a 
matter of course. That the thorns grew to 
lacerate and scratch, can also be assumed. 
Yet no wind blew, and that is why 
plants and flowers of the most delicate 
texture grew up unmarred and unrent, 
and why trees reached up to fabulous 
heights. 

One day there came to the people in the 
Hills an old man who aroused the curiosity 
of all. He was bent in form; his face was 
furrowed with deep lines, and the bushy 
eyebrows, which shaded his squinting eyes, 

[55] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

were gray, as was also his matted hair, 
which hung over his stooped shoulders. 

"I return to my people," he drawled out. 

"We do not know you," replied one of 
the elderly persons in the crowd that had 
gathered around the stranger, "although 
your tongue indicates that you know some- 
thing of us." 

"Indeed, I know something of you," con- 
tinued the old man. "Was I not one of 
your chiefs many years ago, when you were 
but a young man? Did we not call you 
Bold- Wolf? And is not that woman 
Winona, and that old man over there 
Buffalo-Foot 1 ?" 

"Indeed, he speaks the truth!" several 
exclaimed. 

"But I myself was called Walkaway, 
because there came to me at times wonder- 
ful visions that led me away into wild and 

[56] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

lonely places. At first I remained away 
but a few days at a time, but finally I did 
not return at all until this day. But," he 
added, looking around in all directions, 
"have you something for me to eat?" 

"Surely!" replied the people, and they 
brought out their choicest food — venison, 
corn-cake, and fruit. Old Walkaway was 
very hungry, and immediately began to eat. 
It was not long before the entire village 
was engaged in a feast in honor of the 
return of their long-lost chief. But no one 
ate as much and as long as Walkaway. 

"Ah, good, very good!" he exclaimed. "I 
have room for more." 

He was given more, and again he ex- 
claimed, "Ah, good, very good! Still there 
is room." 

"Ah, good, very good!" said one of the 
boys that was called Warm-Face, who 

[57] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

stood off at a distance with some of the 
other young people, mimicking and holding 
his stomach. Then all the youngsters 
snickered. 

Although the jest was not intended for 
the guest's ears, he nevertheless understood 
that he was the object of their laughter. 

"Ah, you laugh at me! You poke fun 
at me!" cried old Walkaway. "You treat 
me rudely!" 

"They are but children, and laugh eas- 
ily," said one of the chief men. 

Old Walkaway was not satisfied with 
this explanation, but suggested that a club 
be applied to the backs of these young 
mockers. 

"I say they are but young boys and 
girls," replied the chief. "Yet I'll see that 
our long-lost brother will not be laughed 
at again by the young." 

[58] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

Old Walkaway grumbled something, and 
walked off among the trees. 

Later in the day he returned. He seemed 
to have forgotten his ill humor. He talked 
about this and that. Finally he said, "My 
visions drew me into the wilderness and sol- 
itude. It was necessary for me to do so, 
as the lonely rocks and trees cried for me 
to watch them. I visited them all. Now 
they again cry angrily for some one to look 
after them. They threaten to destroy us 
all, if their demand is not complied with. 
I myself am old, but I see a vision, which 
means that one of you must go." 

A long pause followed. Finally some 
one asked, "Who is it*?" 

"Warm-Face!" replied Walkaway, stand- 
ing as erect as he could, looking fiercely at 
the young man, and pointing a bony finger 
at him. 

[59] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

Many believed in Walkaway's visions; a 
few privately said that he was led by insane 
ideas; while Warm-Face himself felt that 
the old chief was both crazy and vengeful. 

There was a long silence, but finally 
Bold - Wolf stepped forth and asked, 
"Warm-Face, will you go?" 

"Since you ask me, I will," replied the 
young man, bitterly. But being full of 
humor, he added, with a twinkle in his 
eye, "And I will see to it that the rocks 
and the jack-pines in the wilderness will 
soon close their mouths. I will save you 
all from their anger. Shall I greet them 
for you?' 

Then the young man left, and old Walk- 
away said that it was right. But Warm- 
Face did not feel it was right that he should 
be compelled to leave and wander about in 
the wilderness. However, he did not com- 

[60] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

plain, but was determined to make the most 
of the exile. 

One day, in mid-summer, he was hunting 
in a barren region. The soil was scant. 
Only here and there sage-brush or a stunted 
jack-pine grew. The sun was beating down 
hotly. 

"I shall perish of heat," thought he. 
"Would that I were down at Hot Springs 
in the cool shade." 

As he looked out more sharply, he 
noticed a boy wrapped in a buffalo robe 
and leaning over a fire to warm him- 
self. This youth proved to be the Imp 
of Contrariness. 

"Cold?" asked Warm-Face, as he ap- 
proached the little fellow. 

"Sometimes," replied the Imp. 

"I am almost dead with heat," continued 
Warm-Face. "Can't you give me some of 

[61] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

the cold that you seem to have about you?" 

"Come," said the Imp. 

The Imp took Warm-Face to a place 
where grew some bushes, in the midst of 
which lay a large stone. 

"Help me to move this," said the Imp. 

Then both the Imp and Warm-Face 
pushed with all their might against the 
stone, but it would not budge. 

They tried again and again, until sud- 
denly it rolled over, and a cool wind blew 
out of the ground where the rock had lain. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Warm-Face with de- 
light, as he felt the refreshing wind. 

"Wind Cave," said the Imp. "The home 
of Waziya, the spirit of the whirlwind, the 
blizzard, as well as of the cool breezes. We 
have freed him." 

The Imp then laughed and walked off, 
but Warm-Face stood for a time as if 

[62] 



THE HOME OF WAZIYA 

rooted to the spot, while the wind out of 
the cave grew stronger and stronger. Such 
a thing he had never before experienced. 
Finally Waziya himself came up out of 
the hole in the earth, and he loomed up like 
a great tree. 

Warm-Face quickly slipped behind a 
great rock, where he lay in hiding until 
the big wind-spirit had disappeared beyond 
the horizon. 

In the home country of Warm-Face, the 
tender plants became tattered, and the tall 
trees were stripped and snapped, and the 
huts of men were picked up and strewn 
over the fields. But the people did not 
learn for a long time where the winds had 
come from. 

Since that time Waziya has roamed about 
unchecked, ever bent on mischief, but his 
former prison place is now one of the great 
wonders of the Black Hills. 

[63] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 



Hegenb of tfje <§oob 0ian 



IF the traveler approaches Bon Homme 
from the west, he may look down upon 
a fair plain dotted with farm buildings in 
the midst of clustering trees. To the north- 
east a white church-spire catches the eye, 
and farther to the south a group of 
buildings rather too large to be a collec- 
tion of farmhouses. A little cemetery, 
well kept after a fashion, enclosed by a 
weather-beaten fence, overlooks the Bon 
Homme valley and the wide stretches of 
the wild Missouri. Granite blocks and 
marble shafts rise above the stubble of the 
prairie grass. Yes, he reads some of the 
inscribed names, and possibly remembers 
those who years ago responded to them. 

[67] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

A well-traveled road leads to where long 
ago stood the fair little town of Bon 
Homme, and where at the Four Corners 
now rises a formidable granite shaft erected 
to commemorate the building of the first 
schoolhouse in the territory. At one place 
a few buildings are on either side of the 
road, once a street of the town, and a 
little farther on the white schoolhouse, 
once the village school, the successor of 
the first schoolhouse in the Territory of 
Dakota. 

Down the road — or should it be said, on 
one side of the street*? — stands an old house. 
Out of it comes an old man and leans on 
the gate that once opened upon a busy 
street. 

The traveler halts. "I suppose you have 
lived here a long time?" he queries, while 
glancing about. 

[68] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

"I'm the oldest settler here," answers the 
old man. 

"Are any others here that came to Bon 
Homme about the time you did?" 

"I am the last one." 

It would be interesting to know what 
stream of reminiscences courses through this 
living landmark, and what emotions stir 
his breast. He seems entirely unmoved. 
Would that the oldest settler of old Bon 
Homme might "unbutton" a little and talk 
— talk freely. But he says nothing. 

"Doubtless your children are living in 
this neighborhood?" the traveler continues. 

"I have no children." 

"Oh, then just you and your wife are 
living here in the old home?" 

"I am all alone. My wife died long 
ago." 

A little farther down-stream one may 
[69] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

look upon Bon Homme Island. It, too, 
may speak of a past full of interest for 
the historian. But one would not know it 
to look over to its low banks rising out of 
the water and its wooded acres, through 
which now roam the stockman's cattle and 
the skulking coyote. Even before Lewis 
and Clark came along on their noted trip 
of exploration the island was known and 
named by white men. 

Bon Homme is a French name and means 
Good Man. One may well wonder how it 
happened that an island, a town, and a 
county were named Good Man. 

Many years ago, when there was no white 
settlement far and wide, fur-traders came 
up the river on flatboats. The boats had 
to be towed up-stream, which process was 
called cordelling. Cordelling was a slow, 
tedious way of moving a boat, and was 

[70] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

connected with all kinds of hardships and 
dangers. 

Now, on one of these boats was a man 
who in appearance did not differ much 
from the others — a rough, brawny, weather- 
beaten fellow. Strenuous as was the task 
of moving a flatboat laden with provisions 
and merchandise against the swift current 
of the river, over shallows and around sand- 
bars, this man was never found to complain 
or to shirk. His companions soon discov- 
ered that he was ready to do not only his 
share of the work, but also to be helpful, in 
various ways, to the others. With his great 
strength and endurance were coupled rare 
kindness and thoughtfulness. 

When any particularly unpleasant or 
difficult work was to be done, this man was 
ever ready to do it, though it properly fell 
to the lot of another. In case of sickness 

[71] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

especially was the thoughtfulness of this 
man felt. 

It thus came about that he was dubbed 
by his companions, who were all French, 
le bon homme — the good man. Of course 
this was only in jest, for these rough toil- 
ers were not given to complimenting each 
other; but the jest became the man's name. 

Now, it happened that on this trip, after 
leaving the mouth of the James River, they 
encountered frequent cold rains. Cordelling 
was attended with unusual difficulties. Sev- 
eral men fell sick. Bon Homme furnished 
extra cheer as well as extra brawn. 

As the season was quite advanced, it 
seemed necessary to the captain of the party 
to move on without much delay so as to 
reach the territory of the best fur trade as 
early as possible. 

"In any case," said the captain, "let us 
[72] • 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

get to the island not far up. If we must 
stop for a time, that will be a good halting 
point." 

So they moved on, the well men doing 
more work than ever, and Bon Homme 
accomplishing almost as much as two men, 
besides giving some of his time in the night 
for the comfort of the sick. 

Finally the party reached the looked-for 
island. The boat was tied up. Tents were 
put up among the tall trees. 

All of the men agreed that it was a fine 
place to camp; only Bon Homme had 
little to say. 

"Bon Homme, old boy," said the cap- 
tain, "why so mum?" 

"I am glad we are here," replied Bon 
Homme, "for I am somewhat tired and 
sore." 

The next morning found Bon Homme in 
[73] 



LEGEND OF THE GOOD MAN 

his blankets, a sick man, and on the third 
day his good heart beat no more. 

On a knoll of the island, not far from 
the bank, a grave was dug under an ancient 
oak, and Bon Homme's brawny body laid 
to rest, without word or without song. On 
the oak, at the head of the grave, was nailed 
a board with these words roughly marked 
on it: "Bon Homme." 

The procession of fur-traders, explorers, 
and soldiers that sailed by the island during 
many years following read the inscription, 
but without knowing of the plain tragedy 
and heroism of a plain man that it was 
intended to preserve from oblivion. 



[74] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 



GWje (great Sentinel 



DOWN by the river, a few miles from 
the village of Running Water, the 
very last station on a certain railroad divi- 
sion, rises up a great stone face, carved out 
of the solid chalk cliffs by natural agencies. 
How long it has stood there, we cannot tell, 
except that it must have been there for 
generations. Not far from its base swirl the 
yellow waters of the Missouri. On beyond 
rise the green hills of Nebraska, out of 
which emerges with great haste the Run- 
ning Water, and mingles its tide with that 
of the Great Muddy. 

The great stone face seems to occupy a 
strategic position, for the eyes that never 
close with sleep keep watch, at one and the 

[77] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 

same time, of two mighty waterways and of 
two gateways leading to a country to the 
west. It almost seems that nature had sta- 
tioned the great stone face here as a sentinel 
to guard her rich domains. At any rate, the 
massive face is a wonderful sight as it 
calmly stands there through the glare of 
the cloudless day and through the inky 
blackness of the starless night, through 
storm and through calm, in summer and 
in winter. 

"Tell me, kota" said the visitor to a 
native living in the neighboring hills, "tell 
me what your forefathers said of the great 
stone face." 

"Big stone face is very, very old," said 
the aged Indian, as his eyes assumed a far- 
away look, "very old, indeed!" 

He paused a while, as if going back in 
his mind to a time in the dim past. Then 

[78] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 

he resumed, and related the legend of the 
Great Sentinel. 

It was many generations ago that the 
earth to the west was young and very beau- 
tiful. The grasses grew over the hills and 
plains like soft fur, and large, fragrant 
flowers, of the colors of the rainbow, made 
the land bright. Trees of many kinds with 
long branches shaded the flowing waters. 
Vines bore large, sweet clusters of grapes. 
The plum and cherry and apple trees also 
blossomed and bore sweet fruit. Buffalos 
and deer and antelopes roamed to the very 
shadow of the tepee. Want and suffering 
in this young land were as unknown as war- 
fare and bloodshed. 

But one day a troop of dark horsemen 
appeared on the horizon. The eagle feathers 
fastened to their hair fluttered in the wind, 
as they peered over the wide valley to the 

[79] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 

west. Then they galloped down the hill- 
side, swam the Running Water, and began 
to spread destruction around them. They 
slaughtered whole herds of fearless buffalos 
and deer. They broke and stripped the 
fruit-bearing trees, and tore the laden vines 
from their moorings. They even sent their 
poisoned arrows into the people of this 
land, who knew not fight and bloodshed. 

Great trouble and anxiety came upon the 
good people on account of the rude, wicked 
intruders. What was to be done? 

"Let us talk up to the Great Mystery," 
said one old man, who knew how to think. 

So the people came together on a certain 
day, and upon Stony Butte, where they 
were near the gleaming sky, they all turned 
their faces, young and old, toward the face 
of the Great Mystery and shouted loudly, 
"Good Spirit, forget us not!" 

[80] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 

On the next day they called again, 
"Good Spirit, help us! Help us!" 

And on the third day they beat their 
drums and cried, "Great Mystery, free this 
land from the wicked warriors, who kill and 
ruin what is good and beautiful!" 

As they were about to leave their place 
of meeting, they saw coming over the west- 
ern horizon a man of great size. He came 
straight to them and said, "Dakotas, I have 
come to guard and protect your country. Be 
true and do not forget this day of trouble." 

Saying nothing more, he walked on until 
he came to where now is found the big stone 
face. Here on the cliffs, overlooking the 
land which he intended to guard, he took 
his stand. 

For many years the bad men from the 
east came not near, fearing the Great Sen- 
tinel on the cliffs. 

[81] 



THE GREAT SENTINEL 

But after a great while the people began 
to forget who had placed the Great Sentinel 
at their boundary, and they began even to 
do some of the wicked things that the men 
with eagle feathers in their hair had done 
long ago and from whom they had asked to 
be freed. Finally they forgot altogether 
why they had assembled on Stony Butte and 
had cried to the sky. 

Then said the Great Sentinel, "Why 
should I guard the land against wicked men, 
when those who live in it are no better? I 
will close my eyes and sleep." 

And so the Great Sentinel fell asleep, 
but the form in which he had appeared to 
men remained as a lifeless figure of stone. 
The feet sank into the sands of the river, 
but the head remains as a reminder of bet- 
ter days. 



[82] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 



Hegeno of an 0lh (^afe* 



ABOUT a mile west of the village of 
Struck-by-the-Ree, near the present 
city of Yankton, on the high bluffs overlook- 
ing the densely wooded Missouri valley, 
stood an old oak tree. Its roots reached out 
and down into the chalk rock below. Its 
sturdy trunk supported wide-reaching, 
gnarled branches. In their shade the young 
people often rested, and as, according to re- 
port, an Indian body had been buried in the 
tree, they looked for and found weathered 
beads in the dust below. 

The path that led to the oak was made by 
an Indian maid as lovely as the clear day. 
Often she came to the tree and there lin- 

*Based on the verses "An Old Oak," by Dr. B. W. Burleigh. 
[85] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 

gered, plucking the sweet flowers that blos- 
somed on the prairie. Sometimes as she 
wended her way over the hill, she sang 
softly and clearly as the rippling rill in 
yonder ravine. 

"Oh, had I the wings of yon eagle, 
I'd take my flight afar, 
To a land I have seen in my dreaming, 
As fair as the evening star. 
My soul is weary with waiting, 
I would that a message might come 
And say to me, 'Maiden come quickly 
And silently fly away home.' : 

Sometimes, too, her lover, a strong, brave 
Dakota chief, would come and sit by her 
while the sinking sun enkindled the distant 
hills with a supernal glow. Here they 
talked of life and of death, and, beneath 
their breath, of love. These children of na- 

[86] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 

ture drank deeply from life's pure stream, 
which was mingled with the woods, the 
flowers, the birds, and the skies. 

But one night as the stars were dimly 
gleaming, the north wind carried on his 
breath a defiant cry that made even the 
heart of the old oak tree quiver. The Rees, 
a tribe warlike and cruel, rushed through 
ravine and plain upon the Dakotas. Quickly 
the young lover-chief mounted his horse and 
rode to the fight, and with his band put 
the enemy to flight. 

The young chief and the maid decided 
to marry in a month. 

"But one more moon," he said, 
"One moon, and thou shalt be 
My heart, my soul, my bride, 
For all eternity." 
And she, "I'll follow thee 
[87] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 

To earth's remotest shore; 
I'll leave thee not again, 
No never, nevermore." 

But war came again between the Rees 
and the Dakotas. In battle, not far from 
the young chief, the maiden hovered. At 
daybreak his horse was killed and he fought 
on foot. Then an arrow from a thicket was 
sent at the chief's heart. But the maiden, 
from beneath a bending tree, sprang up 
quickly and was pierced by the arrow of 
the Ree, and thus saved her lover. 

The battle raged on. The chief also was 
wounded but rallied again. From this 
time on he was called Struck-by-the-Ree. 
Finally the remaining Rees were driven 
from the field. 

The stricken form of the maiden was ar- 
rayed in her festive garments rich in many 

[88] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 

colored beads. Then it was wrapped in 
cloth and bound to a scaffold in the branches 
of the old oak tree on the bluffs, and the 
mourners departed. 

Each year the chief returned to linger 
by the tree and the form that once held the 
spirit of the loved one, until his hair 
whitened with age. From the woods be- 
low came the hoot of an owl and the song 
of a lone whip-poor-will, but the old war- 
rior wept like a child. Then he sang the 
dear old song of long ago: 

"Oh, had I the wings of yon eagle 

I'd take my flight afar, 

To a land I have seen in my dreaming, 

As fair as the evening star. 

My soul is weary with waiting, 

I would that a message might come 

And say to me, 'Brother come quickly 

And silently fly away home.' : 
[89] 



LEGEND OF AN OLD OAK 

Then he said farewell, and silently went 
away never to return to the old oak. The 
seasons came and went. The path became 
overgrown. Even the wrapped form in the 
tree disappeared. And now only the tree- 
stump remains and possibly a few bleached 
beads in the dust. 



[90] 



FORT RANDALL 



jfort Kanball 



MANY years ago, when the wide prai- 
ries of the West were still largely in 
their original state, the government estab- 
lished military posts at various convenient 
points to guard the white settlements 
against the Indian. Most of these forts 
have outlived their usefulness. Fort Meade, 
at the foot of the Black Hills, and in plain 
sight of Bear Butte, still shelters soldiers in 
its beautiful stone barracks. But Fort Ran- 
dall, once an important army post, has 
been abandoned, just as Fort Pierre had 
been before. 

After several months of careful search, 
the site for Fort Randall was selected by 
General Harney, and the post was estab- 

[93] 



FORT RANDALL 

lished. This was over half a century ago. 
The spot is a beautiful one, nestling by the 
Missouri and shut in by high hills to the 
south and by high hills on the other side 
of the river. 

It was some years ago that we were on 
our way to Fort Randall in a prairie 
schooner. Late in the afternoon we reached 
the hills that invariably are found extend- 
ing back for some miles from the river. We 
followed the old trail, which wound down- 
ward. As it was too late in the day to be 
ferried across the river, we halted and 
pitched our tent part way down the hills in 
a suitable spot. The horses were picketed 
in the tall grass. Not a house and not a 
cultivated field were in sight. All but the 
road and a path cutting it diagonally near 
our camping place, was as primeval as on 
the day of creation. Just as the sun was 

[94] 



FORT RANDALL 

disappearing behind the western hills, the 
deep silence was broken by a cannon's boom, 
which, as a continuous reverberation, crept 
up and down the river valley between the 
hills. The river was not in view, but we 
knew it was there, and we knew the boom 
was the sunset gun at the fort. 

Then came the bright camp fire, the wel- 
come supper, bed with boots as pillows, 
sleep, and the dismal howling of coyotes 
through the night. At sunrise next day, the 
gun again sent its echoes rolling up and 
down the hills. 

Not long after that we were descending 
the high hills to White Swan on the river. 
A little Welshman, who had charge of the 
army flatboat, agreed to ferry us across to 
the military reservation for a consideration. 
This meant that the boat had to be pulled 
up stream some distance by members of our 

[95] 



FORT RANDALL 

party. Then we all jumped into the barge. 
The little Welsh navigator stood at the 
helm, calmly smoking a pipe. 

"Now pull like fury!" he shouted to us. 
And we worked the long, heavy sweeps 
until the sweat ran off our foreheads. The 
swift stream and our efforts carried us down 
to a point of a sandbar, and from there we 
crossed the remaining part of the river. 

The buildings of the post, such as the 
officers' houses, the hospital, and the bar- 
racks, were stationed around a spacious 
quadrangle, over which fluttered the flag. 
The inner portion of the quadrangle was the 
parade grounds. About these was a beauti- 
ful lawn, shaded by spreading elms planted 
nearly half a century ago, possibly at the 
direction of General Harney himself. Out- 
side of the quadrangle stood the canteen, or 
little army store. Then came the pretty 

[96] 



FORT RANDALL 

chalkstone chapel. Farther up the gentle 
hill were the rifle pits and targets, the ceme- 
tery, and beyond a prairie dog village, the 
steep, green hills, and over all the blue sky. 

Here we lingered for a day or two, watch- 
ing the ordered life of the little isolated 
post in the wilderness. Down by the river 
we washed our clothes and swam in the 
swift-moving water. It was all like a pleas- 
ant dream in the golden days of late 
August. 

Outside of the post, on the same side of 
the river, there was not a human being far 
and wide. The hills, the prairie, and the 
river formed an impressive panorama, ma- 
jestic in its solitude. 

After having rested and dreamed and 
filled our souls with the picture here pre- 
sented, we moved on. 

Beyond the borders of the military reser- 
[97] 



FORT RANDALL 

vation, a storm and night overtooK us, and 
we sought shelter in the modest shanty of 
an old squatter on the hill. In his younger 
days he had been a soldier at the fort. 

The storm grew more violent. The rain 
beat down with increasing force. The thun- 
der kept up a continuous growl. The little 
lamp in the living room sent out its feeble 
gleam. In the farther end the former 
Indian fighter sat and played on the guitar, 
now lightly and joyously, now slowly and 
sadly, and then he hummed to the accom- 
paniment of the responsive chords and the 
reverberations of the storm without, while 
the little daughter cuddled close: 

THE SQUATTER'S SONG 

My little cuddling Molly, 

Sweetheart of later days, 
Fear not the tempest's volley 
[98] 



FORT RANDALL 

And not its boist'rous ways. 
Bye oh, high oh, 
My daughter Molly wee! 

The coyotes are in hiding, 

They're driven from the door, 
The eagles can't be gliding 
Where rests my lamb secure. 
Bye oh, high oh, 
My daughter Molly wee! 

Soft prairie winds are blowing 
Beyond night's gloomy wall, 
And thousand blossoms glowing 
Amidst the grasses tall. 

Bye oh, high oh, 

My daughter Molly wee! 

Then trust your soldier daddy 
And fear no danger here. 

He knows that Heaven gladly 
Will keep his children dear. 

[99] 



FORT RANDALL 

Bye oh, high oh, 

My daughter Molly wee! 

The storm came to an end like other 
storms. Of the military post and squatter's 
little shanty, only the sites remain. But 
the strains sung by the father to his little 
daughter Molly still reverberate in the 
memory of those who heard them years ago. 



[100] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 



Clje Cttp of tfje g>kte<$ 



EAST of the Black Hills there lies a re- 
gion known as the Badlands. It would 
be hard to find a country in the whole world 
more wonderful and interesting than that 
lying between the Cheyenne and White riv- 
ers. The larger portion of this land is 
level and fertile, and grows not only trees 
and grasses, but also the crops of the set- 
tler. Yet out of these level stretches of 
land rise the most singularly shaped and 
most delicately colored formations. The 
air is clear and dry, and the eye can see 
far into the distance. However, what one 
sees is hard to describe adequately. Out of 
the grassy plains, level as the unruffled sea, 
rise innumerable hummocks and raised flats 

[103] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

with perpendicular edges. In some places, 
and especially in the so-called Great Wall, 
may be seen what in some respects resembles 
cragged mountain peaks, in other respects, 
a long line of castles, towers, battlements, 
pinnacles, and domes, all in a more or less 
advanced state of ruin. Some are in ma- 
terial of a delicate shade of pink, some of 
buff, and others of green or cream. 

The effect that these wonders of nature 
make upon the spectator is that of a great 
ruined city in the midst of a great solitude. 
And when he rides about among the Bad- 
land formations, the feeling does not di- 
minish; for on every hand are found fossil 
remnants of a varied life that once existed 
here. From them we know that great rep- 
tiles waded about the shallow waters ; beau- 
tiful shellfish slowly moved about the mud 
of the bays; turtles and crocodiles stirred 

[104] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

the water of the streams. Then appeared 
the rhinoceros, the three-toed horse, the dog, 
the tiger-cat, and the bulky Titanothere. 
Their bleaching bones or shells are strewn 
all about the Badlands and surmount nearly 
every eminence. 

The sights of the Badlands tend to stim- 
ulate human imagination mightily. It is not 
strange, therefore, to find that there have 
grown up legends of the Badlands. 

It was way back in the fresh dawn of time 
when a powerful people lived in the Black 
Hills. They hunted in the forests of the 
hills; they fished in the mountain streams; 
and they cultivated the rich soil in the val- 
leys. This was sufficient for their welfare 
and happiness. 

But in the course of time they discovered 
gold in great quantities in the gulches and 
stream-beds. They even dug down into the 

[105] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

mountains and there took out large masses 
of the shining metal, and to this very day 
we have one of their old mines leading 
miles and miles down into the rocks. 

These people were strong and well, as 
they lived out of doors, for the most part, 
breathing the mountain air, fragrant and 
healthful with the balsam of the evergreen 
forests that darkened the hillsides and val- 
leys below. And when occasionally one of 
their number became sick, they bathed him 
in the healing waters of Hot Springs. All 
of these things taken together made these 
people not only strong but also rich. 

But they, like many other people, were 
not long satisfied in their prosperity. 

"Why forever live in the Hills," said 
someone, "where the sunlight strikes us late 
in the morning, and leaves us early in the 
afternoon?" 

[106] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

"Yes, why?" soon said others. 

"Below and toward the morning sun," 
said another, "lie stretched out the plains, 
which are as level as a floor. There we can 
build us a city and live in the sunshine." 

So they went down on the sunny plains, 
there to build for themselves a magnificent 
city, the like of which the world had never 
seen. 

They chose a master-builder to direct 
the work. Plans for the structures and 
grounds were made, and then building 
materials were brought from the quarries 
and forests of the Hills by great bands of 
brawny men. Great stone walls were 
reared, and hewn and carved timbers were 
put in place. Everybody, young and old, 
helped in the building of this city. It was 
a busy, joyful time, and each month saw 
the work progressing. They worked on 

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THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

through summer and winter, through spring 
and fall, each doing the part he was 
directed to do and could do best, never 
impatient over slowness of construction. 

"Not in one season," said the master- 
builder, "nor in one year, but we must work 
on for many years before the undertaking 
will be finished." 

And so they toiled on with pleasure, look- 
ing forward to the time when they could 
see the completed work. 

Finally the last stone was put into place, 
and the last touch given to the gilded spire, 
and the master-builder was able to say, "It 
is finished!" 

As the people looked upon the thousand 
stately castles rising out of the green plain, 
and the ten thousand towers, domes, and 
minarets glistening in the golden sunlight, 
they could not restrain their joy, and they 

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THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

cried loud and long, "City of the Skies!" 
"City of the Skies!" 

Then they moved into the City of the 
Skies with the tune of reed and thud of 
drum. On one of the highest of stone 
towers a fire was kindled that should for- 
ever send out its smoke by day and light by 
night. 

"We have toiled enough," these people 
said, "now let us enjoy our city and our 
gold." 

So they gave themselves up to enjoyment. 
Sports and idleness filled their days, and 
feasts and festivities graced, and sometimes 
disgraced, their nights. 

Of their city they were exceedingly 
proud. 

"It is a magnificent city," they said. 

"All praise is due to the master-builder," 
said someone. 

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THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

"I did something toward the building of 
it myself," said another. 

"As far as that is concerned, I did more 
than you," remarked a man noted for his 
size and strength. 

And so they went on to make compari- 
sons. By degrees they fell into the habit of 
thinking and speaking of the part each had 
in the great work. Each wished to appear 
important. This led to bragging, and 
bragging turned to discord, and discord 
called up strife. Strife was first of words, 
but later of thrusts and blows. 

When men are living in strife, sooner or 
later some must go. To many the beautiful 
city soon became unbearable. Rather than 
endure it longer, a large number of the in- 
habitants of the City of the Skies collected 
their belongings, and with many tears 
moved out into the wide world. 

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THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

Yet discord did not cease. More of the 
inhabitants of the city chose to seek a home 
elsewhere; and again others followed their 
example, until there was room in the city 
itself for the wolves and bears, which were 
not long absent. 

"We cannot live with wolves and bears," 
said still others in the city. "Besides many 
of our friends are gone; let us go too!" 

Then came into the city the great mon- 
sters of the wilderness. And finally a great 
army of huge turtles and lizards crept in 
and took possession of the castles and 
grounds. 

When the Great Mystery happened by, 
he saw a wide, level plain, green as the 
willow-tree by the side of the brook. Streets 
ran through it in pleasing curves. Here was 
an avenue shaded by graceful elms, and 
there one by stately cottonwoods, which 

[HI] 



THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

rustled sweet music in every breath that 
blew. Here was a copse of the ever green 
spruces and cedars, and there bloomed in 
profusion flowers of brilliancy and fra- 
grance. He beheld the thousand castles 
rising from this garden, and ten thousand 
domes, towers, and minarets glistening in 
the golden sunlight, and in and around and 
about were the beasts of the wilderness and 
countless ugly turtles and lizards. 

"Man was not given intelligence and 
skill to build such grand edifices in the 
midst of such beauty for the very lizards 
and turtles," said the Great Mystery. "I 
shall smite and annihilate!" 

Then there shot a thousand-forked flash 
upon the City of the Skies, and a deafening 
roar shook the earth to the deepest founda- 
tions. There, where had stood the thousand 
castles rising from a green, fragrant plain, 

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THE CITY OF THE SKIES 

and ten thousand towers, domes, and min- 
arets had glistened in the golden sunlight, 
now hung a gray cloud of smoke. When 
this was lifted and carried away by the 
gentle prairie wind, there stood upon a 
blasted plain the charred and melted and 
shattered ruins of the City of the Skies. 

And now after ten thousand years, there 
graze upon these ruins the wild mountain 
sheep in the golden sunlight of old — in the 
Badlands of the West. 



[113] 



JUL 12 1912 



